


Hemlock Tea

by minazukihatta



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But we also have some soft!Erik here, Cousin Incest, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Friendly reminder that Erik is an impulsive psychotic asshole, Imma probably add tags as the story goes on, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, READ THE TAGS I DON'T WANT NO HATERS HERE, Slight Klaue/Erik but it's brief and never really gets anywhere, Slight Linda/Erik that never gets anywhere, Unhealthy Relationships, so yeah Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minazukihatta/pseuds/minazukihatta
Summary: It’s probably a good thing his daughter inherited more from her mother than she did Erik.__That Dad!Erik AU nobody asked for but got anyway.





	1. The Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [T'Cherik Shippers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=T%27Cherik+Shippers).



It’s probably a good thing his daughter inherited more from her mother than she did Erik.

It’s not the first time he’s had that thought. You could clearly see Sayori in her. She was in Amaya’s Asiatic hooded eyes, her cheekbones, the shiny sleekness of her hair and the occasional rise and fall of syllables when spoke.

Erik watches as Amaya pours in the cordial in the teacup in front of her Black Widow doll—hemlock tea, she insists to Erik, because she’ll like it more. She’s careful and precise in her movements, odd for kids her age because seven-year-old’s are supposed to be clumsy and fall down everywhere. But Amaya does everything with grace as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Her manners are flawless, instilled by her mother. She says her pleases and _itadakimasu’s_ and her _molweni_ and goodbyes. She’s not rude and uncouth like her sloppy father.

“More tea?” Amaya asks.

Erik cracks a smile and holds out his cup, much too small for his hand. “Please.” Once she pours in the ‘hemlock tea’, he tells her thank you in Japanese.

A few minutes pass as Amaya makes up conversion for Black Widow and chatters on about what happened in school. How she got a hundred per cent on a test again, how bored she is in classes, how the boys tease her for playing basketball and how she throws the ball in their faces. Erik supresses the urge to laugh because he’s not supposed to be encouraging that behaviour.

(Erik does anyway because she needs to learn how to stand up for her beliefs.)

Amaya’s animated face quickly turns to that of forlorn. Her eyebrows are furrowed with her gaze focused on the rim of her teacup. “How long will _Tou-chan_ be gone?”

Erik doesn’t like that look. Doesn’t like what it does to his already broken and jagged heart.

It figures that his daughter knows he’s leaving for another mission. Amaya can spot patterns, behaviours and anomalies. Amaya got both her mother and father’s smarts; the former previously one of the world’s leading experts in biophysics and the latter graduating top of his class in MIT.

Erik spends time with his daughter when he can. Amaya practically demands it with her needs and wants. Erik has been taking her out more than usual. To the movies, to the arcade, to the theme park, to special events at the library and buying her things as if trying to quantify his love for her.

(He’ll never be able to put a number on his love for his kid. He can’t even put it in words. The best he can describe it is that he would sacrifice everything for his little princess.)

“A few months, six at least,” Erik admits. “ _Tou-chan_ will try to finish things up early so he can come home to his princess.”

Amaya frowns, bottom lip sticking out. “I hate it when you leave. It gets too quiet.” Erik reaches out for her, placing his hand on her shoulder—not her hair because she had _Tou-chan_ do her hair and it took all morning to do. If Erik could foist this mission off on anyone else, he would. He doesn’t like leaving his daughter any longer than he already does.

“ _Tou-chan_ just has some bad guys to catch,” Erik tries to comfort her.

“You had better kick their butts good for making you stay away for so long,” Amaya says archly.

Erik smirks at her. That’s his girl. “I will, baby,” he promises.

* * *

 

Erik grew up in death. First, his father, whom Erik found dead on the floor with panther claw marks inside him, and then his mother in prison. When you got tossed around place to place in the foster system, you heard of some kids going bad, falling to drugs and guns and violence. He even had ‘friends’ that went that way. You could see death in the newspapers and TV, when the police were overly excessive or in the clashes between gangs.   

Erik grew up to start causing death. When he started touring in Iraq, he wrapped like kills like it was a damn videogame. A life taken was another strike against his skin. He was a kill monger, he joked once, and the name stuck.  

Killmonger was cold and ruthless, a brilliant tactician and an excellent soldier—the type of killer that the military could use. Killmonger pulled out the blade stuck inside N’Jadaka’s heart and sharpened it to use against those who killed his family, his innocence and his childhood.

N’Jadaka was burned alive; Erik was the little flame that started to devour oxygen; and Killmonger was the wildfire that would turn everything to ashes.

But then Erik met Amaya, and like her name, the rain in the night, she watered down the flames burning inside him until there were only a few flickers struggling to survive inside him. Erik doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive her for killing his plans of revenge and war but he can’t bring himself to hate her.

N’Jadaka, Erik and Killmonger all love their little girl too much to do that.

* * *

 

For all that Ross is uptight and ruthlessly efficient, he has a damn heart. It’s how Erik is allowed calls to his daughter in the moments in between his mission. It’s how Erik can spot the genuine regret in his eyes when he tells him that going deep undercover.

Killmonger sneers at Ross for this weakness. Erik has begrudging respect for Ross. N’Jadaka thanks him.

“The moment it gets too much or you think your cover is blown, get the hell out of there,” Ross tells him in the office.

Erik sits across him, legs lazily crossed and leaning back into the chair. “Relax, boss, I’m too damn good a liar for that,” Erik assures him, winking at him. “They don’t call me Killmonger for nuthin’, you know.”

Ross sighs. “I’m starting to think that Killmonger is your superhero name.”

“Like Crossbones?” Erik had a thing going in SHIELD for a while after he got custody of Amaya. Saw a whole lot of crazy in there that he would have loved to tell his kid if it wasn’t for the damn disclosure contract. He briefly met Rumlow and saw the same kind of predator in him that was in Killmonger.

After SHIELD turned out to be HYDRA, Erik was to be discreetly transferred back to JSOC. Would have been if Ross hadn’t picked him up first and had Erik moved to his team. Erik prefers to be with Ross, even if he is a pushy asshole. The missions are shorter than the tours he would have to go on.

Erik needs all the time he can get with his kid before she becomes a teenager and starts hating him for never being there like he should be.

“Crossbones was a mercenary name,” Ross corrects him. “I’m thinking like Captain America.”

“Then I must be everything that ain’t our nation’s golden boy ‘cause fuck America.”

Ross snorts. “You know what, I actually have to agree with you there. But I’m being serious here. Don’t hesitate to run when it gets too much.”

“Aw, the Big, Bad Ross does care for Killmonger.”

“I care about what happens to Amaya’s dad,” Ross hisses at him, killing the humour inside Erik. Damn bastard knew where to hit where it hurt most. “You better come out of this op alive.”

* * *

 

Klaue is a thrill-seeker. He loves guns, explosions and danger. If he didn’t become an arms dealer, he would have killed himself out of sheer boredom. The riskier the item he gets his hands on, the more he loves it.

He warms up all to easily to Killmonger, respecting—and loving—his penchant for murder and mayhem.

It takes a while for Killmonger to be a part of his inner circle, taking part in deals and heists. His connections are extensive. Klaue practically has a contact in every single continent on the planet. He has ties to politicians, to scientists, to drug lords and to aid workers.

Every moment he isn’t Killmonger, he’s Erik on the phone, talking to his daughter.

Linda’s the one who’s handling communication lines for the op, staying back in America to look after Amaya. Amaya should be okay with Linda and Linda should be okay with Amaya. They’re both smart, sensible women. Linda is a bit miffed that she isn’t working with Erik as his partner in crime for this op because— _the more the merrier, dumbass. Somebody has to watch your back._ Linda clings to him that is, at best, annoying, and, at worse, co-dependent.

Erik thinks that what happens when you help a girl hide the body of her abusive step-father.

Klaue is nosy, which is fair to make sure he has no snitches on his team. He makes digs, asking about a missus or a girl or maybe a bright-eyed baby boy waiting back home for him. Killmonger tells him that the only love of his life will be the gun in his hands.

Killmonger listens on, amused, as Klaue bitches on about Stark, about how he made quality weapons, that a Stark Industries arsenal could create an orchestra of destruction, and that it all went to waste the moment he decided to start calling himself Iron Man.

“That suit—Don’t get me started on the suit,” Klaue rants. The alcohol spills out of his glass onto the bar counter. “It’s beautiful. It’s a piece of art. It’s all of that glorious God shite. But—but why the fuck is he turning against his own? Because of some morality crisis? That is Class A bullshit. It damned near broke my heart when he turned against me in his Iron Man suit. Me! His brother in arms race!”

To be honest, Erik relates more to Stark than to Klaue at that moment. He wisely keeps his mouth shut about that. That’s going to get him killed. Stark realized he had a legacy of blood and pain, spanning all the way back to his father. Killmonger had already got started on his own, cutting down people with guns and blades, until he met the one true love of his life.  

Amaya could have been a princess with a crown of bones, growing up in a palace in a world that was burning down around her.

“Careful, boss,” Killmonger murmurs. “Imma start thinking you have some mecha kink for Stark.”

Klaue raises an eyebrow at him. “You got any kinks?”

“A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets,” Killmonger shoots back. Erik does, in fact, have kinks. Sayori practically started a few of them and Linda’s touched on some. Erik needs to be careful, well, more careful, because Klaue is drunk, they’re talking about sex and he really doesn’t want to sleep with the guy.

Luckily, at that moment, Klaue’s phone rings, tacky rap music blaring, distracting him from Erik. Erik drinks the rest of his glass, pretending to watch the Rangers game on the crappy TV in the corner while listening in on Klaue’s conversation.

* * *

 

When Erik has enough dirt out of Klaue and he reaches that time that Klaue usually kills the people around him for security, he starts organising his arrest with Ross. Killmonger has to make a show of loyalty, sway Klaue into a sense of security. Sure, he can do that.

Killmonger promises vibranium. Klaue resembles an overly-eager puppy when he off-hand mentions about how one of the antiques in the Museum of Great Brittan is made out of the stuff.  It’s not long until a heist is planned and they move to London.

* * *

 

Thank fuck, no civilians actually die during the heists. Internal Affairs and Ross would never let him live it down. Erik leaves enough time for when Klaue storms the exhibit for guards to get the hell out of there. Erik even has to covertly check that what they’re lacing the assistant curator’s coffee uses chloroform, not poison. The only people Killmonger’s had to kill on this op where those who were deemed threats to the United States or those that wouldn’t be missed since they were literal human shit bags.

Klaue lights up with delight when Erik’s info turns out to be right. The axe, stolen from its home by self-righteous colonisers that took _terra nullius_ for word and law, is indeed vibranium. This is going to get Klaue _trillions_ on the black market.

Klaue has Killmonger accompanying him to South Korea to sell the vibranium. _We sell this, you get thirty per cent and you’ll never want for anything again,_ Klaue tells him. Erik doesn’t give a shit about money. Killmonger pretends to.

“You clean up nice,” Klaue compliments him when Killmonger comes out of his hotel suit wearing a black suit well above his paygrade. He fucking hates it. When push comes to shove and Klaue’s realises what’s up, this suit is going to be hard to move in.

“Thanks, boss,” Killmonger replies, winking at the other man. “You look pretty snazzy yourself.”

“Maybe when all this is over, you could stick with me. We can find always trouble somewhere we can stick ourselves in.” Boy, is Klaue gonna be pissed once he realises Killmonger’s working for the CIA.

“I’ll think about it,” Killmonger says diplomatically. “So where’s this casino at? I’d like to get this vibranium outta our hands.”

Klaue grins wildly. “Follow me, boyo,” he says, leading the way.

* * *

 

Where vibranium goes, Wakanda follows.

Erik immediately catches sight of his royal cousin talking to Ross— _probably marking his prey_ —when he walks in with Klaue into the casino. Prince—wait, no, it’s King T’Challa now, is the physical embodiment of everything that Erik’s hated. King T’Challa is of a father that killed his own blood and of a nation that turn its back on its brothers and sisters instead of fighting back. All the rage that’s been watered by three years of fatherhood and Amaya comes flaring back to life.  

At that moment, Erik wants to rip the gun from his holster and shoot his cousin in the head, CIA and Wakanda be damned.

 _I want to kill somebody_ , Erik thinks, and he prefers that somebody to be T’Challa.

Erik’s eyes dart around the casino, looking for other Wakandan agents. He sorts through the dark-skinned people in the room. Who else are the Wakandans going to trust? The woman with the fake wig and thickly corded muscles whose gaze protectively hovers over T’Challa is definitely one of them. There’s more to be around though. This is their king out in the field.

Klaue’s faux deal with Ross goes to hell in a matter of seconds.

It’s a flurry of movement, gunshots and money flying through the air until Erik is racing through the Korean streets, Klaue in the seat next to him. The damn bastard loves this and has Killmonger playing _PSY_ as if that is good car chase music.

It’s not and Erik wants to shoot Klaue for that.

And as that thought crosses him through, Erik glances over to Klaue who’s hollering incoherently out the car window.

“We need to split up! They don’t know which car we got in! We’ll tell everybody to leave a trail of destruction behind them so the Panther can’t tell who’s who!” Killmonger yells over the music and Klaue laughs at how quickly his ‘friend’ has picked up his brand of chaos. The message gets spread and the convoy breaks away from one another. In the rear-view mirror, he sees the Black Panther stupidly chasing the wrong car.

Dumbass.

Erik is speeding through streets and alleys, slowing down when they come up to the docks. They stop behind some warehouses, hidden from view. Klaue is howling with laughter. Erik takes advantage of that to turn off the music.

“That was—” a cackle “That was good! We got ‘em good! _Ahhhh …_ No, but, seriously though, stay on my team. I don’t typically like Americans—too wild, too brash—but you ain’t like that.”

“Watch it, boss,” Killmonger jokes, “you’ll make a boy blush.”

Another laugh and then, “Good thing you got your father’s smarts.”

Erik freezes.

“I can still remember the day your father contacted me, promising me the heist of a lifetime,” Klaue muses. “Fucking was. I had to fight for my life. Worth it in the end, though. Got my hands on the vibranium.”

Erik becomes all too aware of the canon Klaue has strapped on his arm.

“I could tell you’re not with them Wakandans. I mean, why would they leave vibranium lying around in a _British_ museum of all places?”

Does he know that Erik is with the CIA? On the papers and everywhere else, it said that Erik died during a tour on Africa. It was part of a cover-up created by SHIELD when he started working for them and was kept up when he was transferred to Ross so he could work covertly.

Does he know about Amaya?

“Not to mention, I heard about what happened to your daddy. It was a real shame. The king killing his brother and leaving his nephew to fend for himself?”

His dad worked with Klaue. Erik isn’t too surprised by this. He knew his dad was dealing weapons. He sent Erik out to play ball at the parking lot whenever he wanted to talk ‘business’ with his ‘friends’.

At least, his dad wasn’t killed out of senseless violence. Erik even thought his dad was killed for having a child with an outsider at one point in his life.

 “I saw your face when you walked into the casino. How’d it feel to see family again?”

Erik stonily turns to Klaue.

“I wanted to kill somebody,” Erik confesses. He kicks the arm cannon out of the way and shoves a knife into Klaue’s throat.

Blood sprays across Erik’s face.

* * *

 

 

 

 

(When Erik hears of King T’Chaka’s death, he doesn’t know what to feel.

Erik spent the better part of his life planning to kill the guy. Even if the bastard wasn’t there, he had a hand in deciding Erik’s life. Thanks to T’Chaka, Erik became an orphan and was tossed and kicked around the foster system, with nobody to look after him but himself.

T’Chaka stole N’Jadaka’s chance to live. It seemed fair that T’Chaka’s life was stolen from him.

Erik calls Amaya and listens to her talk and talk and talk.)

 

 

 

* * *

 

“I have Klaue,” Erik informs Ross on the phone. The Wakandans have most likely already hacked the CIA’s lines of communication and are listening in on this conversation. “We’re by the docks, in an industrial area behind some warehouses.”

Erik hangs up before Ross asks more questions, turns off his phone and chucks it away. It breaks into satisfying pieces on the ground. He stretches out on the roof of the car, K-Pop—the good kind—thrumming out from the speakers. Klaue’s body is still inside the car, blood everywhere and face pressed up against the passenger window.

Like hell Erik was going to stay in the car with a dead body.

Erik has a few minutes until the Panther gets here with his guard.

Erik sits up and pulls off the gold chain hidden beneath his shirt, unclasping it to remove the ring hanging on it. His father’s ring, given to him by his father. It’s unprofessional to bring personal item on undercover ops. They ran the risk of exposing the mission. Nowhere in his contract did it say that he couldn’t, though.

Erik slips the ring on. It fits on his ring finger, mockingly, like a promise. Erik should have been raised in Wakanda, with his father’s family. Erik should have been given his birthright.

When he gives this to Amaya, it will have a different meaning. It will mean that Erik loves her and that her granddaddy would too and that they wouldn’t leave her as long as she had this. All that tooth-rotting, sappy shit.  

The sound of movement—running—shakes Erik from his thoughts. The great Black Panther appears out of the darkness, like a vengeful spirit. He stops, a few meters from the car, able to tell that something is amiss.

After all, why is one of Klaue’s thugs greeting him with a sharp smile and dark, gleaming eyes.

Erik cocks his head at the Panther and waves at him, his father’s ring visible on his hand. The Panther catches sight of the metal on Erik’s finger. His body language doesn’t change but Erik can only imagine the look of confusion on that stupid face of his.

“Hey, cuz,” Erik says, a little too jovially. “Sorry for stealing your kill.”

* * *

 

The Panther checks the car, carefully keeping Erik in his peripheral view as he does so. Erik chooses to keep lounging on the car roof. The patronising smirk is still plastered on Erik’s lips, taking in every movement that his _beloved_ cousin made.

“Why did you kill him?” The Panther asks at last. “You worked for Klaue.”

Erik must make a strange image, with his sharp smile, the blood splattered on him and his father’s ring on his hand. He shrugs and slides down from the roof. “Eh, he was a dead man walking,” Erik explains. “Besides, even if you did bring him back, your people would kill him anyway.”

“We would have him serve a prisoner’s sentence.”

“Now why the fuck would you do that? Don’t your people demand blood for him killing your own and taking all that vibranium?” Great, the new king was a softie. Killmonger would spit at him. Erik should have expected that much. He let the man who killed his own father walked free.

(But Erik decided to let T’Chaka live. What did that make him?)

There’s a predatory turn in the Panther’s stance. “Who are you? Why do you have my grandfather’s ring?” The dark edge in T’Challa voice is a pleasure to hear. Some teeth. _Finally_.

“Same reason as you, little king,” Erik hisses, leaning in closer. “Inheritance. I’m your daddy’s dirty little secret.”

Gold catches the edge of Erik’s view and he reacts quickly in time to move back. The side of his cheek gets neatly cut. His gaze falls on the spear lodged in the ground not too far away. Nice aim. Colour Erik impressed.

Ross rolls up in— _is that a smart car?_ It’s small and embarrassing and Erik is going to lecture his boss on badass methods of travel in the future. Ross jumps out, slamming the door behind him and storms up to Erik in a huff. Two black women leave the car after him and go up to their king.

“Get away from him,” the woman in red growls, all too ready to cut Erik down where he stands.

Erik carefully regards her. After taking note to keep track of her in his surroundings, he turns to Ross. “I live, bitch. Long time no see. How you doing?”

“Fine,” Ross grumbles. His eyebrow furrows when he takes in the blood on Erik. “Where’s Klaue?”

Erik jerks a thumb to the car. “Inside.”

Ross looks to where Erik is pointing and—“You killed him. You killed _Klaue!_ ” He spins on Erik with all the rage of a murderous kitten. “What the _HELL?!_ Was it not clearly specified in the mission brief to bring back Klaue alive? You can’t just kill our targets!”

“First off, I got everything we needed and more out of him. Secondly, did you really think the CIA could get their hands on Klaue when _they_ —” Erik gestures to the current company “—are here. Thirdly, he played PSY during a car chase and I ain’t getting over that.”

Ross stares, incredulously, at Erik. “Why are you like this?”

“Well, if you’re looking for someone to blame, look at this asshole.” The asshole, in question, is T’Challa.

“I’ve never met you before today,” T’Challa says, probably levelling Erik with a glare beneath his mask.

Ross looks between T’Challa and Erik before sighing, long and drawn-out. “I.A. is going to be on our asses for this.” Ross digs out his phone from his pocket and makes a call. “Yeah, hey, Park. Get a mop. Klaue’s dead.”

Erik meets the pressing gazes on him with a toothy smile.

* * *

 

T’Challa doesn’t get another chance to talk to him. Erik doesn’t give him one. He’s quickly shuffled back to the States for psychological and physical examination and investigated by Internal Affairs.

I.A. really did get on his ass, jabbing at Erik with their questions. Ross was worse, sniping and bitching at him. Erik gets off light, thanks to an impressive mission success count and being a living human weapon. He is served with only a few months of suspension. That’s a win for him really because now he can go home to hemlock tea parties and Amaya. 

When his daughter wraps her tiny arms around him, the fire blazing back to life inside him starts to die down.  

 


	2. The Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reviews, kudos and love for the last chapter. Sorry, this took so long to put together. Originally, this was to feature (REDACTED BECAUSE OF SPOILERS FOR NEXT CHAPTER) but then I realised I had written 5k words. I had to cut it off because it was getting too long.  
> Helpful reminder that Erik has emotional maturity issues and that has affected himself and the people around him.  
> Shout out to BabaTunji for all the support she has given me. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!

_A part of Erik always wanted to be a father. That desire was probably birthed when he looked at his mom and dad and wondered if he would have the same things as they did when he grew up. That simple desire strengthened after his dad’s murder. If he had a kid, he’d treat them as his dad did—gentle but firm, allowing them to have the world at the tips of their fingers. That selfish little urge to continue the legacy of his parents and to show them that they did an alright job with their kid._

_But after everything he’s been through, Erik knows he would not be a good father. His hands were moulded for killing, his body is a canvas for keeping score of his kills, his mind can think of infinite ways to use household objects as murder weapons and his rage is a force to be reckoned with. Erik has plans, plans of blood, plans of revolution, plans of usurping colonisers from power and allowing the oppressed to rise up and take their rightful place in the world. He can’t shove that all to the side._

_He is a murderer. Not a father._

_“Erik, stop being melodramatic and listen to me,” Sayori says, frankly, in accented English. She sits up on her bed—_ deathbed _, Erik corrects grimly—, pillows cushioning her back. Her skin is pale and sickly from illness and a catheter is hooked up to her arm. Sayori has always been a small woman, comically contrasting with Erik’s large size and height. Right now she looks like she could be swallowed up by her pillows and blanket. “Good and bad—you can go both ways, everybody can, but I need you to be a father for our daughter.”_

 _Sayori places emphasise on the words ‘_ father’ _and ‘_ our’ _as if it would hammer her point through Erik’s dense skull._

 _“Why can’t you send Sayori to your grandparents?” Erik suggests. “They’re rich—richer than me. They can support your kid.” Erik is careful to say that Amaya is Sayori’s kid, because she’s the real parents out of them. She’s the one who spent countless nights soothing Amaya’s cries, stood through the tantrums, fed her, nursed her,_ raised _her._

_Other than blood, Erik Killmonger has no right to Amaya._

_Erik can’t do this. He can’t. He can take being ambushed by assailants, being shot six times, survive walking through a desert with nothing but a semi-automatic in his arms and six drops of water in his bottle. It’s funny how he can endure those trials but he can’t stand up to the task of parenthood._

_Sayori sighs at him. “Financially, yes, they can. But emotionally and mentally, no, they can’t. My mother will probably do to her what she did to me. Constantly push her to succeed, to be number one. Her life will be tutors, classrooms, fine clothes and china. And my father? Every achievement Amaya makes will be disregarded simply for being born female.”_

_“I’m—” Erik begins to argue._

_“I’ve arranged with my lawyers that when I die, Amaya will be transferred to live in the Japanese foster system.”_

_Every inch of Erik’s being turns to ice._

_“Oh, you—” Erik stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on, moving to pace up and down the room. “—you_ bitch! _Why the_ fuck _would you do that? At least with her grandparents, she can stay in one place and has a chance to go somewhere! Do you know what it’s like to grow in the system?”_

_“No,” Sayori says, cordially, like she isn’t gambling her daughter’s life, “but you do.”_

_Erik snorts, incredulous. He’s shaking his head at Sayori. He can’t believe she is doing this. “You really think it’s better for a killer to raise your kid than your crazy grandparents?”_

_“I think that the man who let me be me and who stood up for others when they couldn’t is the best person to raise my daughter. He wouldn’t deny his daughter her family when he has been deprived of the same thing.”_

_“I can’t always be that man, Sayori.” She knows that. She’s seen him in his tempers. Seen the murderous flame in his eyes. Amazingly, she can handle them and redirect his anger at something else._

_“Nobody can be the perfect parent,” Sayori replies, diplomatically, clasping her hands in her lap. “I haven’t. I know, I’ve tried. However, no one can be perfect in this world. All we can do is try our best for the people around us and for ourselves.”_

_God, Sayori sounds so sappy. She believes her words and there’s that drive in her tone that pulling Erik from that dark corner he’s been sitting in for years._

_“Erik, I’m going to die. I want to live. I want to watch my daughter grow up. I want to continue my research. I want to do so many things and I_ can’t _.” Sayori’s voice is starting to break. Her eyes are glassing over and her grief cuts lines into her face. “And that is killing me more than my own body is.”_

_Whatever fight in Erik leaves and he’s walking over, sitting down besides Sayori on the bed. He doesn’t touch her. Erik isn’t good at comforting._

_(_ You’ll have to learn, _a voice, sounding a lot like Sayori’s, calm and cutting, says in Erik’s head.)_

_Sayori notices this and rolls her eyes at him. A tear slips down, dropping onto the sheets. “Stay with us—until I … pass,” she says. “Not for my sake. For Amaya’s. Somebody needs to show you the ropes. Who knows what you’ll do if you just drop into parenting with no idea what you’re doing.”_

_“Traumatise the kid.” Erik isn’t joking. He’s completely serious._

_“That,” Sayori agrees, pointing a finger at him. “See?” There’s an insistent edge to her voice. “You know where you can go wrong. You’re not a complete disaster after all.”_

_“This ain’t gon’ be easy, Yori.”_

_Sayori takes Erik’s big and calloused hands and clasps her slim, petite fingers around it. She gives his hand a weak squeeze—the most strength she can muster in her condition. “Life never is easy.”_

* * *

 

Stools, beanbags and couches were strewn across the mini theatre for visitors to sit on. Erik and Amaya sit at the back, silent as the short film plays out of the holographic projector. Erik has his foot on the side on his knees, forming an oddly-shaped triangle which Amaya sat in, leaning back cosily against his stomach.

Erik wonders if Amaya can feel Killmonger’s trophy scars beneath his shirt. Erik always wear a shirt around his kid, even going as far as to wear a wetsuit at the beach, to avoid the dreaded moment when Amaya would ask about them. Of course, she’s a kid. He isn’t going traumatise her by telling her the truth. The thing is, she’s smart. She can notice the patterning of his scars, study his African cultural heritage and figure it out that it’s ritual scarring created by scores of people he’s killed.

And the scariest thing— _fear_ bought on by a _child_ —will be her reaction. Will she still see him the same way? Will she be scared? Will she hate him?

Erik does the only thing he can do prolong that reaction as long as he can and hides like a damn coward.

The film shows the media’s perception of mutants through history. It begins with reports out of control men and women with powers, causing thousands of dollars of public damage, wrecking destruction and killing people. The Brotherhood of Mutants are included, with its leader, Erik Lensherr, referred to as Magneto, featured prominently. The narrator goes on to explain that all of this created the stereotype that mutants were dangerous criminals.

If Erik is to be honest, he finds his parallels with Magneto to be eerie. (Sharing the same name was annoying.) They were both hurt at a young age, Erik’s father killed as a child and Magneto a Jewish boy growing up in a concentration camp. They both wanted to help people like them. But the way they wanted to help included violence, using force to make the oppressors to submit.

The method has merit. More change could come from that than decades of reasoning and diplomacy. It’s only now, after Erik has become a father, that he can see the consequences of such a course of action.

 _I could have been you,_ Erik thinks.

The narrator goes on to explain how the stereotype and terror caused by the Brotherhood caused decades of conflict between mutants and humans. Riots and segregation are shown, lynchings and murders are mentioned, political oppositions, even bills to discriminate against mutants.

Erik tears his eyes away from the screen to see if any of the other viewers are glancing at his seven-year-old daughter. They’re not, thankfully. When Erik turns his attention to the projector, there’s a positive shift in tone in the film. They’re talking about the X-Men, mentioning Professor X’s pacifistic philosophy. Erik remembers them being a big thing in the 90’s when he was growing up. There weren’t a lot of mutants in Oakland. If they were, they were wisely hiding the fact or skipping out of town as fast they could.

The film cuts to different experts, all discussing the impact of mutants on society. It’s a blur of faces for Erik until they finally reach—

 _“There’s a lot of changes in the body during puberty that causes mutant powers to manifest—certain chemical reactions that we’ve yet managed to ascertain that cause this phenomenon.”_ Sayori said. In the space between his legs, Amaya perks up with interest. She sits up straighter, hands on Erik’s leg. _“But when these powers manifest the public see a mutant and not a child that’s still struggling to control their powers. I’ve worked with these children before, seen the effect it has on them and it’s damaging to say the least. There’s a demand for mutants to be in control of their powers the moment they manifest. It encourages a behaviour for these children to hide their powers which is more dangerous in the long term. This is why places like Xavier’s are needed; to provide safe places for these children to explore the limits of their powers.”_

It cuts to another scene, showing the change in behaviour towards mutants. It got a massive boost after the appearance of Avengers at the Battle of Manhattan. The fact that powers could be used for good, rather than evil—despite the fact the X-Men had been doing that for _years_ —touched the global community. That, and the cool comic book style team-up. Perception was still shaky these days, due to godly alien invaders ( _thanks,_ Loki), Ultron (what the fuck, Stark?) and that incident with Scarlet Witch (Kid should have done more training). The film ends on a questioning note—did powers make a person bad or did a person make the powers bad?

Amaya leaves the theatre quiet. She and Erik walk out into the rest of the exhibition. Glass screens are erected showing the profile of notable mutants, a wall is covered with interactive photos of historical events involving mutants, cardboard cut-outs of the X-Men to one side … The whole exhibition dealt with the history of mutants.

When Erik told Linda he was taking Amaya to this exhibition, the woman stared flatly at him. _Why can’t you be a normal dad and take her to Disneyland instead?_

“Tou-chan,” Amaya starts when they eventually leave and grab lunch at a nearby over-priced café, “did you take me there to see Kaa-chan?”

Erik shrugs. “I thought it’d be a good change from photos and stories.”

A line forms between Amaya’s eyebrows. “Kaa-chan was a scientist. But she worked with mutants? Why?”

“Research,” Erik answers. “At first. I mean, your mom was curious and she wanted to figure how shape-shifting and telepathy worked. But then, like the video said, she started working with kids. That changed things for her. She helped out a lot of scared, confused kids in controlling their powers. She taught them to understand what they had and that stopped a lotta blow-ups happening. Literally, in some cases. Eventually, she took what she learnt from these kids and used it to solve problems in her line of work that nobody else could.”

The waiter arrived with their food. Erik dug in, picking up his sausage roll and eating it with his hands. Amaya picked up her fork and bread knife, cutting her roll into neat pieces.

“Kaa-san really was amazing,” Amaya points out. “She used her head to help people. Do you …” Amaya picks at her food, nudging a piece of roll with her fork. She’s nervous. “Do I have to be like her? Amazing?”

Oh, fuck, Erik did not prepare for that. He meant to show her that film to tell her that her mom was more than just hazy memories at the beach and stories told by Erik and Linda. Not a legacy that Amaya had to live up to. In the back of his head, he hears Sayori calling him an idiot.

“Princess, you already are amazing,” Erik says. “Don’t you ever think otherwise. But it’s okay not to be like your mother. It’s your life. You can make your own decisions.”

More silence. Amaya fidgets. Erik furrows an eyebrow at her.

“Baby, is everything alright?” Amaya bows her head. Dammit. What’s Erik doing? Was it his body language? Tone? It had to be something he was doing. It always was. Take a deep breath. Breathe. “Okay,” Erik says, evenly. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.” He gives her a reassuring smile, doing his best to assuage her uncertain mood.

 _Jesus Christ._ His parents and Sayori deserved to get a medal for being able to raise kids without fucking them up.

“I …” Amaya starts uncertainly. “I get scared. Sometimes.”

“Of what?”

Amaya bites down on her bottom lip. “You.”

Erik … Erik reels at that. His own baby girl scared of her father? “Why?” Erik manages to say.

“You … You get angry. Not at me. But I see it and I don’t know what to do.”

“Amaya,” Erik says quickly. “I’m never gonna hurt you. Okay? I’d rather shoot myself in the head than ever hurt you. When you see Daddy like that, don’t bother him. Just walk away.”

“I know!” Amaya snaps, irritated. “But—sometimes—you—I feel like I have to be perfect so you don’t get angry at me. I—I can’t get angry. Or upset. And—and—I can’t hold it in—and—” Amaya gets quiet, again, shrinking into her jacket. There’s a forced control to her breath. Amaya is trying very hard not to cry. Unlike other kids her age who’d loudly bawl at the slightest injustice done to them, Amaya preferred to cry in secret. Erik isn’t sure which parent she picked that up from.  

Erik quickly checks his surroundings. It’s lunchtime rush in the café. People’s priorities weren’t on an agitated father and a near-to-tears child and the chatter created by customers and waitstaff was enough to cover Erik and Amaya’s own conversation. He moves, flashing a smile to Amaya’s questioning expression and picks her up. Amaya is nestled on the curve of his arm and her arms obediently goes to latch around Erik’s neck. Erik picks his way through tables and people to the disabled toilet at the other side of the room, locking the door shut behind him.

Erik settles his little girl on the basin benchtop gently and steps away to grab the tissue paper from the roll dispenser by the toilet. He makes sure to keep his movement slow, not rushed, and tries to keep any sign of tension from his body. When Erik holds the wad of toilet paper to his daughter, Amaya recognises the opening that her father gives her. Amaya’s body finally shakes and she breaks down in tears.

Amaya is not a pretty crier. Her cheeks are blotchy, snot crawls down her nose and tears leak out of her eyes like she’s a damn tap. Erik wipes away all those tears, occasionally making her blow the snot of her nose.

Erik’s fucked up. Again.

It’s not the first time he screwed up in raising Amaya. This won’t be the last time either. Erik recalls telling Amaya not to show weakness by crying the first week he stayed with her and Sayori. Sayori called him a few choice words in Japanese and told him that showing emotion was not a weakness. _Only three days and you’re already scarring your daughter,_ she had hissed at him.

When Amaya calms down, hiccups whimpering down, Erik speaks.

“Baby, look. I’m sorry.” A long time ago, Erik would never apologise for anything he did. He understood the weight of his decisions. Look at him now. “I didn’t mean to make you go through that. Don’t feel like you have to be perfect for me. That’s going to lead to moments like right now. Just be yourself. I’d rather know my kid for who they are, not who they want to be for me.”

“I’m sorry …” Amaya weakly says back.

“No, no, don’t apologise,” Erik rushes to say. “This is on me. I have issues.” _I’m fucked up_ “You’re only seven. You’re my kid. It’s not your job to make me calm or happy.” C’mon, Erik, un-fuck this situation. Erik hugs his baby girl, unsure if this is what she needs right now. She’s small and delicate in his arms. Arms that are thick and coiled with years of work in killing people. Erik tries not to think about that. She moves against him, arms wrapped around his neck. Erik’s hand goes to rub her back at a slow, soothing speed.  

Oh, thank God, Erik didn’t do the wrong thing.

After a few minutes, they pull away from one another. “We cool now?” Erik asks.

Amaya nods. “ _Hai, Tou-chan.”_ Yes, Daddy.

“Say, why we don’t we ditch this pop stand?” Erik suggests. “Go back home and watch a few movies? That okay with you?”

Amaya considers this. “Can we get milkshakes?”

Erik smiles at her, toothy and wide. “Sure, baby.”

* * *

 

Linda peeks over Erik’s broad shoulder, down at the neat network of braids rooted at the cap of Amaya’s head and admired the sleek straightness of the rest of her hair. Damn it. Seven years old and the kid has better hair than her. Erik’s hands work nimbly, tying up a clump of hair. Erik had the same eerie focus in his eyes as Killmonger did whenever he took position to snipe somebody from afar.

It’s funny how the great Killmonger, one of the US’ greatest weapons, could be such a caring father.

Linda couldn’t help the sudden stab of envy that ran through her at how much care Erik had for Amaya. Don’t get her wrong. She loves the kid. Amaya might as well be her own kid with the amount of time they spend together. But Linda’s spent years watching Erik’s back, making sure the damn fool didn’t get himself killed or go too far. The strongest display of emotions she could ever see out of Erik was anger and hatred, fuelled by his dad’s murder and the people that killed him.  

And here Erik is openly showing love for a little girl.

“Erik,” Linda whines behind him. “Do my hair next.”

“Quiet,” Erik huffs at her. “I’m focusing here.”

Linda pouts at him. _Asshole_. Linda slinks away to the kitchen, with plans of raiding Erik’s pantry and stealing all his favourite snacks. Erik has a nice set-up here. Spacious layout, a view of the San Francisco skyline, loads of natural lighting. There was a small shrine set up for Amaya’s mom in the living room; Erik had his African art hoe stuff up on the walls that somehow managed to work with some of the oriental stuff he brought back from his baby mama’s house in Japan; Linda even had her tech scattered which Erik threw hissy fits about. _Linda, pick up your shit! Amaya’s gonna hurt herself._

A bit hypocritical since Erik, being paranoid, had a few weapons stashed, out of reach from Amaya, and exits in every room in case anything happened. Before, Erik would have just taken a decent apartment, caring only if it served his purpose, and be done with it.  

Sixteen. Linda’s known Erik since she was sixteen years old. They were in the same foster home when they first met. Her dad skipped out on her mom when he learned that Linda’s mom was expecting. Linda’s mom was good to her until she got married to a man that got her addicted to heroin. Linda had to be twelve when her mom OD’d and her piece of shit step-father got carted off to prison.  

Erik was a bad kind of asshole: Loud, rude, brash and, worst of all, _smart._ If he were a normal asshole with average intelligence, that’d be fine. He’d be like all the other kids with a chip on their shoulders. The boy got constant A’s on _anything_ he did in school, as if the subjects were too easy for him. There was a dead hollowness in his eyes that would flare up with rage from time to time and he had plans to join the military. Erik was a psycho-in-the-making. A Killmonger-in-the-making, to be more precise.

Linda made sure to stay away from him. None of that bad boy cliché, thank you very much.

And then she accidentally killed her step-dad.

Her step-dad got released on parole for good behaviour and made it a priority to find Linda who was the scared kid who made the 911 call and ratted him out to the cops. Nobody even told her _anything_ about her step-dad being released until he cornered her on the walk back to her foster home from school. It was a blur from how he came at her with a gun, to how Linda wrestled him to the ground and got the gun off him, to how her step-father got two bullet holes in his head.

After that, Linda blacked out. When she came to, she was on the doorstep to her foster home, knocking on the door. Erik was the one who opened the door.

Linda guesses Erik wasn’t as much as a heartless asshole she thought him to be since he practically talked her out of her shock and gave her space when the realisation set in. She didn’t know what to make of Erik when he started asking what to her dad’s body and then demanding her to change into warmer clothes to help him hide the body. Linda was lucky, nevertheless, because jail would have fucked any future she could have as a kid in the foster system.

They managed to stuff her dad in a large sack Erik found in the garage and managed to get his body all the way to some woods nearby. They spent the rest of night making a hole deep enough for nobody to find her step-father’s corpse and buried the gun somewhere else.

The next few months had her constantly on edge. Linda jumped at the slightest of sudden noises and any mentions of the cops had her nauseous and on the verge of vomiting. The cops came to interrogate her once when they finally noticed her step-father wasn’t checking in with his parole officer. Linda has no idea how but she managed to get them off her tail by lying. Through it all, Linda sticks to Erik’s side. She knew he was irritated by her constant presence but she sticks to him like gum on the bottom of his shoe.

And stick to him she did. Annapolis? Followed him there. MIT? Hey, I’ll study computers there. Whatever he did, Linda provided support where she could. There was definitely something unhealthy with the way she seemed to go wherever Erik went. It was as if the secret of her step-father’s corpse had inextricably entangled her fate with Erik’s.

Everybody who got close to her pointed out her dependence on Erik. _You can do better than him_ , they said. _Leave him._ Linda got where they were coming from. To them, she probably looked like the crazy, clingy female love interest trying to get the attention of the toxic masculine object of affection.

Having Erik around is comforting for her. When Linda’s brain scrambles, Erik’s the one to come up with a plan. It also helps that he’s two hundred pounds of hot and heavy that can easily snap somebody’s neck. Though, Linda isn’t blind to the danger she’s in if Erik chooses to turn on her. Being hunted down by Killmonger is not an ideal position to be in.

Linda does not love Erik, not in the romantic sense. Being with Erik is a rollercoaster of emotions. Sometimes it got really high, like when she and Erik played basketball one Californian afternoon till the sun went down and got cheap soft-serve ice cream afterwards.  Other times, it got low, when Linda stood in the aftermath of a battle field, wondering why the fuck she followed Erik to a _warzone_.

Linda guesses it’d be nice to get Erik’s approval for all she did for him. However, Erik has the emotional capacity of a _rock_ so it’s not likely she’s getting _that_ anytime soon.

Linda smiles wildly at the deceptive cardboard box in her hands. Chia seed chips. _Nobody_ liked chia seed in this apartment. Why would Erik have such a thing in his walls unless he was using it to hide something? Linda opens up the box and, to her delight, finds the cinnamon sugar cookies that they all keep fighting each other to eat.

Linda greedily shoves a cookie in her mouth—

And gags.

“Erik, what the hell?!” Linda shouts, turning back to Erik’s general direction.

 _“What?!”_ Erik booms back. A second later, Erik shows up, levelling an unimpressed look at her, with Amaya to his side, hair done to perfection.

“There is _salt_ on the cinnamon _sugar_ cookies!” Linda hisses, shaking the offensive box in her hand at him.

Erik smirks at her. “Did you really think I would leave them lying like that?”

“You’re an asshole!”

“You have cinnamon sugar cookies?” Amaya looks up to Erik with wide, hungry eyes. “And you didn’t _share_?”

“No, Amaya,” Erik replies, sternly. “You can’t have any. You just had two slices of cake.”

Amaya’s face scrunches into the world’s most adorable recreation of the puppy eyes. It tugs at Linda’s worn-out heartstrings. Only a monster could refuse Amaya. Which Erik is, as he bends down and pulls Amaya’s cheeks wide apart.

Amaya squeaks—quite adorably, if Linda may add—and bats Erik’s hands away, rushing to Linda’s side. “I shall not forget this, father,” Amaya declares, gravely. Uh, oh. Erik’s going to pay. Amaya will find a way. Linda’s going to help her.

“I’m pretty sure you’re forgetting to work on your group project for school,” Erik shoots back, unperturbed. Amaya gasps, saying something quickly in Japanese. She leaves the kitchen, side-eying Erik all the while. Linda can hear rushed footsteps once she’s out, heading to the direction of her room. Erik focuses his attention on Linda when they’re left alone. “So, you coming or what?”

Linda slowly blinks at him. “Where to?”

“The living room,” Erik elaborates, as if Linda was being dense. “You were complaining ‘bout me doing your hair.”

“Holy shit, you were actually listening to me.”

Erik scoffs at her. “When have I ever not listened to you?”

“Do you want me to start?”

A few years ago, Linda muses, Erik wouldn’t be caught dead playing with people’s hair. In the military, everything had to be practical, from the way you worked to how you wore your hair. Linda sits quietly as Erik works on her hair, brushing it out and shifting strands way and that.

It's comforting. Erik’s fingers working through her hair is a soothing lull. Linda almost zones out. But then she remembers that all that those fingers were good for, before Amaya, was sex and violence. Erik is dozens of conflicting sides that Linda’s barely scratched the surface of understanding.

Linda knows that she’s come closer to understanding Erik more than anyone else in this world. Wisely, she keeps it in mind that if they were in a situation where if Erik had to shoot Linda to save his life, he would pull the trigger.

“Hey, Erik?” Linda calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think I should leave you?” she asks. There’s trepidation building in her. In the possibility Erik says yes. If he says yes, she’s annoying and a burden.

“If that’s what you want,” Erik answers. It’s a not a yes, but it’s not a no either. “I’ve told you to fuck off when I saw you at the opening ceremony at Annapolis, when you showed up at MIT, when you entered the military. Shit, you followed me to warzones where you saw me kill people. You’re stuck to me like some crazy stalker. By now, I’ve accepted that you ain’t gon’ leave me, unless you wanna.”

“So, if I walked straight out of the door, you wouldn’t stop me?”

“Nah,” Erik says. “Didn’t I just say that if you wanna leave, you can leave? You leaving might do us both some good. Though, if Amaya gets wind of what you’re planning, you’d best do it quick ‘cause she will try and stop you. She would miss you.”

“And you? Would you miss me?”

There’s a snap of elastic in response. “ _Annnnd_ we’re done.” Linda isn’t sure if Erik is talking about her hair or their conversation. Linda turns around to see Erik picking up a handheld mirror from nearby and holding it up to her. Linda takes the mirror, giving Erik a pointed look as she does so. She hates— _hates_ —it when Erik tries to change the topic.

It was a good job as always. Braids lead up to a fluffy ponytail seemingly tied by a band of hair. “If only you were as good at dealing with your emotions as you were doing people’s hair,” Linda throws scathingly at him. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened to you if you became a hairdresser instead of a soldier?”

“I wonder a lot of things, Linda,” Erik says. There is an edge to his tone that implies that is the end of the conversation.

 _I don’t think so_ , Linda thinks vehemently. “It’s a simple yes or no answer, Erik. If I were gone, would you miss me?”

“Isn’t the answer obvious?” Erik scoffs.

“Obvious?” Linda repeats, irate. “ _Obvious_? I need a degree in psychology just to have a basic understanding of what the hell goes on in your damn head. I don’t even have that much of understanding of you other than blood and violence! Any actual _human_ emotion you have goes to Amaya! She’s only known you for—what? three years?”

“She’s my kid,” Erik points out.

“I’ve been with you for over a decade! I’m your _FRIEND_!” Linda yells. The sudden burst of volume, and the emotion behind it, leaves Linda panting. “I … I _think_. The way you treat people, behind that front you put up, they’re tools. I’ve been through so much with you that I don’t know where we stand”

Erik stands there, watching her, face stony. Linda wants to hit him. _Hard_. Why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn’t he doing anything? Why is Erik like this? Erik’s arm moves, slowly. Linda tracks the controlled movement with her eyes. He wouldn’t kill her. Not with Amaya in the apartment. But there are so many things he could do. His sleeve comes up to rub her eyes. When he pulls away, Linda catches a soaked dampness on the sleeve.

She was crying. Huh.

“You’re live in my apartment with my kid. I leave you alone with her for weeks at a time. Where we’re together on joint missions, you got my back. I have celebrated Kwanzaa, our birthdays and New Years with you on multiple occasions. I would have done more than tell you to fuck off if I didn’t want you around.”

Linda stares at Erik.

“Yes,” Erik answers, _finally_ , as if it was pulled out of him. “I would actually miss you. Happy?”

“You—” Linda breathes out. She shakes her head at him, looking down to hide her face from him. She can feel the burn of tears at her eyes. “You’re such an asshole.”

Erik moves in close, pulling Linda to him. She can feel his arms wrap around her. It’s warm, Linda notes, tender, unlike Killmonger’s harsh cruelness or Erik’s usual bravado. Linda can smell the laundry detergent from his soft cotton shirt, the fabric tickling her nose. She melts into Erik’s hold, standing there tucked into his arms, face pressed against his chest.

They don’t move or speak for a while. It’d break the tender tranquillity of whatever they were sharing. Far from the secret of her step-father’s body. Far from the violence and rush of battles and missions.

Linda should leave Erik and his emotional baggage. She will. She wants to be _something_ —something that she can make herself, without Erik holding her down. She will walk on her path, eventually. But, for now, she wants to have this quiet moment with Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave him, Linda. Erik's not good for you.  
> Yeah, so, Linda has a strong unhealthy attachment for Erik. While she does care about him, he's an asshole. Why doesn't this girl get more love in the fandom????? Anyway, here's my Linda. Nothing has been confirmed about Linda other than she bangs Erik and is his partner in crime giving me liberty in creating a possible backstory for her.  
> And Erik, get help. Do something about your lack of emotional maturity and anger issues. You're hurting your family.  
> This chapter felt kinda repetitive for me since there were women crying on three occasions because of Erik. I kept worrying about making Erik OOC. Are we ever gonna get a crying Erik? I dunno. We'll have to wait and see.  
> Anyway, feel free to leave kudos and reviews. If I've made any grammatical or punctuation mistakes, please point them out.


	3. The Cubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aight, so sorry this took so long. But this is 19 pages so length is here to make up for absence. I've been incredibly busy and this chapter took me weeks to write. Also Infinity War happened and that ... that was a whole thing. So, yeah, have this badly written chapter. Here you go.

Everett Ross has no life. 

 

Actually, he does, but this is his life now. 

 

“Erik, put the leopard cubs back where you found it,” Ross tells the other man sternly in the car. Outside, the clean up sorts through the remains of a black market sting operation. 

 

Erik’s spent a month infiltrating a research group. What made the case reach Ross’ desk was they were conducting illegal experiments on animals to make them ‘enhanced’. Read: animals of mass destruction. Erik cut off the foundations around holding the group up in record time (understandable, Amaya’s birthday was coming up). It led to a last ditch auction where key members were present selling rare and/or exotic animals for funds to continue their research. Cue raid, some gunfire, much chaos and many satisfying arrests. 

 

And once again, Ross found Erik with a dead body, the body of the head hoochie, inside a storage room where the other enhanced animals were being caged in. Except for the baby leopards. They looked like a cubs right now but when Ross found Erik, the two leopards had been full-grown and ripping out a man’s throat with its teeth. 

 

The now much smaller baby leopards now had their head resting on Erik’s lap, watching Ross with the lazy eye of a predator sizing up their prey. 

 

Ross should be concerned that his agent has a thing for killing leaders. Klaue, Madame Masque (2.0), the person Erik recently killed. It’s an alarming trend which he may be a part of one day. 

 

“In a cage?” Erik bites back. “No fucking thank you. Also, they followed me to the car. You saw how they just hopped into the car, right?”

 

“Well, you can’t keep them,” Ross reasons. “There are laws against that. Wouldn’t they be more happy in her natural habitat?”

 

“Oh, yeah …” Erik looks down to the cubs. “You wanna go back to the jungle?”

 

One cub lifts its head then makes it way to fully seat itself in Erik’s lap. It promptly closes its eyes and goes to sleep, nestling close to Erik. 

 

“You can’t keep them.”

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

“They will grow to full adult size and then animal control will be on your ass about why you have leopards living with you.”

 

“Look, those assholes did in those labs made the handlers bond with some of the animals to make them more docile. Like imprinting on baby ducks,” Erik explains. “I was literally given a whole box of cubs to look after. I was their parent. When I wasn’t looking, those fucking white coats took my cubs and experimented on them. When I went hunting around for them, I only got these two--” Erik gestures to the leopard cubs “back. The rest were disposed of in  _ medical waste _ or skinned for their pelts.”

 

“Which is why you killed the leader of the operation.”

 

“And the people who experimented on my cubs. And a few others. They had it coming.” Of course they did. They pissed off Killmonger, the stupid sods. 

 

Ross stares at Erik. Ross isn’t going to win this argument. Not when Erik has parental fury for losing something that was  _ his _ \--even if they were animals--running through him. Not when Erik could slip back into Killmonger at any moment and snap Ross’ neck. 

 

Ross sighs. “Fine,” he relents. “You can keep the cats.  _ But _ you are fully responsible for their training and will be held accountable if they harm anybody. Also, they will go back to the wild when they grow up with all the skills needed to survive.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“I know nothing,” Ross adds. 

 

“This conversation never happened.”

 

Erik blinks innocently. “What happened?”

 

“Exactly,” Ross finishes, rubbing two fingers to his temples. He leans back in his seat, trying not to think about all the paperwork that is going to come his way. 

 

This is Ross’ life now. He should have stayed in med school. 

 

___

 

“You know, you should really cut your losses--let those kill orders go through for your boy’s head,” Secretary Thaddeus Ross casually suggests in the elevator after Erik’s been dropped off for debriefing, cubs hiding out in Ross’ car. “This is the second time your team’s been investigated by IA for operative misconduct during an op.”

 

Ross tries really hard not to glare at Secretary Ross and keeps a neutral face. Having the same last name as someone else is annoying, particularly if the name is Ross. Thank God Ross isn’t actually related to this asshole. He doesn’t know the lengths Ross goes through to get the best on his team to ensure maximum efficiency. He doesn’t know the extent of which Ross cares for his team. They’re not pawns, they’re humans. Humans under  _ Ross’ _ care. After all, some of them have something to go home to. Not like Ross.

 

“Secretary Ross, Killmonger is more use to us alive than dead,” Ross says professionally. “Killmonger is one of our finest operatives. Homicidal tendencies aside, he can be counted on to complete a mission. We brought the research lab down, didn’t we?” He smiles at the Secretary, wide and bland, easing the formal atmosphere around them.

 

“And got access to all their research.” Ross wisely tucks this piece of intel away, keeping up the air of faux friendliness around him. In the back of his mind, Ross wonders if he’s cleaned up one mess and started another. What’s Secretary Ross going to do with all the research? “I was wondering, if you’re so bent on this boy staying alive, why not transfer him to me? The use of his existence can be justified better if he’s working directly for me.”

 

Ross blinks at the Secretary.  _ Excuse me _ ? “I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate, sir.”

 

“With all the Accords, the Oversight committee has been considering forming a team of super-powered soldiers to act on their orders. We’ve been tossing around names. Squad Zero. The Disposables. Thunderbolts. That kind of thing.”

 

“Secretary Ross, Killmonger is human,” Ross points out. He will not be giving Erik to this man. Not when this man sees Erik as disposable footsoldier. Not as a efficient killer with an attitude problem and a daughter waiting at home for him. 

 

“Yes, but I’ve heard what each of the scars on his body mean. One kill, one scar. Roughly, your boy’s killed more than a thousand people. With his kill count, he might as well be a super-human.”

 

“I’m aware of what Killmonger is capable of, Secretary Ross. However, I think you’ll find the case he’s more efficiently used as a member of my team,” The elevator dings. “Now if you excuse me, this is my floor. It’s been good seeing you again, sir.”

 

Ross gives the Secretary one last false saccharine smile and promptly steps out of the elevator with a brisque stride. 

 

God, he fucking hopes the Hulk smashes that man’s head in one day. 

 

__

  
  


“Do you know how weird is to stand in an elevator as somebody else with the same last name as you?” Ross bitches as he walks through the door of Erik’s apartment.  _ Try sharing the same name as Magneto, _ Erik thinks. 

 

It’s early morning, around 2 AM and Erik really just wants to peek into his daughter’s room to see her face and go the fuck to sleep. He carefully deposits Preyy and Flare on the couch. Two pairs of cub eyes stare wide-eyed at him, unsure of their surroundings. 

 

To be honest, Ross had a point in putting Erik’s cubs in a more natural environment. Erik can’t imagine that they would be happy growing up in cramped city quarters like glorified exotic pets. 

 

He hadn’t expected for the first day of going undercover as an overly-paid zoo keeper to be given a box of leopard cubs and the order to teach them how to kill. He hadn’t expected to get attached to them as he did, to take pride in every leap and bound they took. He certainly hadn’t expected for Killmonger to take over his actions when he found what happened to his cubs when they got taken. 

 

Erik needs to get the cubs to bond to Linda and Amaya if they’re all going to live together. Amaya has being the daughter of the pride alpha and being small and cute thing going on for her but Linda’s more complicated as she’s a fully grown woman who’s also a stranger. Preyy and Flare wouldn’t stop glaring at Ross the ride here, Erik being the only thing stopping them from killing the man.

 

Erik should be concerned that Ross is in his apartment. The guy is his unofficial government handler, dedicated to the point that he lives across the hall to Erik. But then Killmonger remembers that Ross has a soft heart and can be manipulated to keep a secret. 

 

“How about a ‘superhero’ name? Avoids confusion,” Erik suggests quietly, dumping his bag by the door. “G.I Joe? White Kitten? Ugly Pink Mole Rat?”

 

Ross throws an annoyed glare Erik’s way. Erik smirks back like the asshole he is. “Very funny, Killmonger.” Ross stalks to the kitchen, turning on the kettle and digging out Linda’s girly ass tea. 

 

“How about--”

 

_ “TOU-CHAN!” _

 

Erik reacts in time to pick up Amaya with one arm, the other going out to halt Preyy and Flare at jumping at the unexpected creature. “No. This one is my cub.  _ Pack. _ ” Erik fixes a harsh look at them. Turning his attention back to Amaya, Erik goes on. “Baby girl, you’re supposed to be sleeping. It’s a school night.”

 

Linda appears from the corridor leading off to the bedrooms, drowsy, and dressed in Erik’s shirt and his boxers, hair a mess. “I let it slip that you were coming home tonight.” Linda notices the two cubs on the couch. “The landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

 

“They’re not pets,” Erik replies, placing an emphasis on ‘pets’. “This is Preyy and Flare. They’ll be staying with us until they can look after themselves. Under no circumstances are you allowed to piss them off because they can grow ten times their size and rip your throat out.”

 

“Oh, just like you then.”

 

Ross snorts from the kitchen. At Erik’s sharp look, Ross throws his hands up. “What? It’s true.”

 

“Hello, Mr Rose,” Amaya chimes, still clinging to Erik and waving at the other man. 

 

“Hello, Amaya. You should be sleeping and it’s Ross,” he corrects her. 

 

“Nope, it’s Rose now.” Erik smirks.  _ Rose  _ deadpans at him.

 

“No, we are not making that my superhero name.”

 

“Too late,” Linda adds, smartly. “The Fates, which is me, Erik and Amaya, have decided. Your codename is now Rose and nothing you do can change that.”

 

“Why do I put up with you all?” Rose moans. 

 

“You’re getting paid to,” Erik points out. 

 

“Not enough.”

 

Erik puts Amaya gently down and faces the cubs. He waves at Linda to come over, which she does, huffing and crouching down in front of the leopards. “Preyy, Flare, this is Linda and Amaya. Don’t attack them.”

 

“Wait, are those leopards?” Linda asks, the distinct markings of the cats becoming more visible to her up close. 

 

Erik ignores her. “The humans are  _ mine _ .”

 

Preyy and Flare look between the girls and Erik, eying them narrowly. Amaya doesn’t seem too bothered by the fact that they’re leopards while Linda appears to be questioning every one of her life choices. The leopards then move. Preyy jumps down from the couch to climb onto Amaya and drape herself on the girl’s shoulders. Flare yawns and settles herself onto the plush pillows, going straight to sleep. 

 

Erik sighs. “Oh good, they like you.” Erik stands up, his knees cracking with the movement. He does not like the sound of that. Is he getting old? “Okay, princess, you’re going back to bed.”

 

Amaya makes a discontent noise but gets up, nevertheless. Her balance is a bit unstable with Preyy on her shoulders, whom Erik carefully detaches as he catches sight of Amaya’s knees wobbling. Flare notices the sudden movement and follows them to Amaya’s bedroom, padding after Erik. 

 

Erik is quiet, tucking Amaya into bed. There’s an odd peace that comes to Erik everytime his little girl gets into bed and Erik pulls the covers up. Preyy and Flare both find a spot on the mattress to snuggle together and close to Amaya’s warmth. 

 

“No biting,” Erik tells them. “This is my baby. You’re not allowed to hurt her.” 

 

The cubs blink at him and promptly go to sleep, heads lowering down. 

 

“Whatever,” Erik huffs. He brushes the hair away from Amaya’s forehead. “You ok while I was gone?”

 

“Yes,” Amaya replies.  _ “Do you have to leave so often though?” _ Amaya slips into Japanese. 

 

 _“Sorry, kiddo. I’m just working to get us money,”_ Erik replies in Amaya’s native tongue. And security, Erik doesn’t add. The US government didn’t like one of their human weapons wandering out on their own, free from their leash. It tended to lead to being hunted down by secret task forces and assassinated. 

 

_ “Nobody else’s parents do this. You said you work for the government but what do you do that you have to leave for so long?” _

 

_ “Just some security work,” _ Erik half-lies.  _ “Don’t worry so much about it. Just focus on yourself. And try not to piss off Preyy and Flare.” _

 

_ “You have bad tastes in names,”  _ Amaya shoots back. 

 

_ “Hey, my name-giving skills are dope, missy.”  _ Amaya resembles her mother at that moment, giving Erik a disbelieving look with her eyebrows raised and mouth pressed into a thin line.  _ “Oh, just go to sleep. I’m taking you to school tomorrow. Happy?” _

 

_ “I want pancakes for breakfast. With ice cream.”  _

 

“Sure.” Erik’s willing to give his girl that. He was gone for a month.  _ “Goodnight, sweetheart.” _

 

_ “Good night, Tou-chan.” _

 

Erik is quiet, stepping out of the room whisper-silent and closing the door behind him. He groans, rubbing his hands over his face. She’s starting to figure it out. It’s probably going to be a few years until she realises all the very bad and unforgivable things her dad has done and starts looking at him like a monster. 

 

Rose and Linda are talking to one another when Erik moves to fall on the couch. 

 

“--think it’s a good idea,” Ross is saying. “You got the experience and the skills. Don’t work for Secretary Ross, though. You’ll just be a plastic soldier to him.”

 

Linda makes a sound of disgust. “Oh, hell no.”

 

“Erik, same goes for you. Don’t get yourself into anything with Secretary Ross.”

 

“I fucking hate that guy,” Erik spits out. He lies on the couch, kicking his shoes off and pulling a cushion under his head. “Had to sit through one of his speeches at the Academy. You could hear the white privilege in his voice.”

 

“I’m being serious here, Erik,” Rose says. Erik sits up and looks at the man. “He’s noticed Killmonger’s kill count. Even came sniffing around to poach you off me. You need to control your homicidal tendencies, Erik. You’re one wrong kill away from being declared an actual problem and being transferred to Ross’ unit or to a maximum security prison.”

 

It’s how genuinely concerned Rose is for Erik beyond being an asset that gives him pause. Killmonger growls low at the display of emotions. Erik sighs. “I’ll watch it. Happy?”

 

“Ecstatic.” Rose finishes his cup of tea and cleans it out with water, setting it on the rack. “I’m going back to my apartment.”

 

“‘Kay. See ya, bitch.” With that, Erik falls back on the couch. With a quick goodbye to Linda and a promise to catch up when he received a week’s worth of sleep, Rose goes back to his place. 

 

“Erik,” Linda call out. She moves to where Erik is and kicks him until he makes space for her. Linda tucks herself into Erik’s side, head resting on his bicep. “Nice to see you. Missed you.”

 

“You too.” Erik hears Linda suck in a breath. “What? I did say if you were gone, you’d miss me. How was Amaya?”

 

“Good,” she answers. “But lonely. She needs her dad around.”

 

“I know.” 

 

“Have you thought about retiring?”

 

“I have.”

 

“Why don’t you then?”

 

“Linda, I’ve been undercover for a month. I have been a cat mama to a bunch of kittens, some of whom have been killed. I’ve haven’t gotten sleep in thirty-six hours and have running on fumes and cheap coffee. I need to sleep.”

 

“Ugh, fine.” Linda melodramatically rolls off the couch and picks herself up from the floor. “We’re going to talk about this later.”

 

Erik doesn’t deign to give her an answer and goes straight the fuck to sleep. 

 

___

  
  


The topic of retirement has come up for Erik. 

 

Back then, when Erik was being tossed around in the system, the military shone like a beacon to him. He had no money to get himself into college, which the military could provide, and it could teach him skills he couldn’t get anywhere else. 

 

“But you’re not a kid anymore,” Linda points out, taking a sip from her coffee. She and Erik sit at the small round table in the kitchen where they usually had dinner on. “You’re not obligated to be in military anymore. You’ve served your years.”

 

Preyy and Flare were cuddling up on the couch in the living room, where the TV was playing re-runs of an old anime with the volume on low. Erik dropped Amaya off at school. Something warm in his chest bloomed in his chest when his little girl ran up to her friends, huge smile on her face, and pointed him out in the crowd of parents and cars.  _ My dad’s back, _ she said.  _ Look! _ They waved at him, and Erik returned the gesture, and ran off inside the school building. 

 

“I know--” Erik hisses out. “It’s just--” 

 

How the hell does he explain it? How the hell does he even talk about this? To be honest, he doesn’t want to. But he’s been such an asshole to Linda. She’s spent a long time watching his back and trying to make sense out of everything he does. Erik doesn’t need to be dissected like a some patient at a mental hospital. He’s starting to see that Linda deserves an explanation for some of the things he does. 

 

“I don’t think I can actually leave,” Erik admits. 

 

Linda scoffs. “Of course you can. I mean, might be risky. You’ve been on some classified missions and practically a human weapon but you can always hand in that resignation form.”

 

“Not like that.” 

 

Linda sends a questioning look. 

 

“I grew up in Oakland. Gang violence and police brutality was a thing that lingered in the background. My mom died in prison. My dad got murdered by his own brother. The military comes along and all that violence I grew up with gets in my face. In my head, even.” Erik lets out a shaky breath and rubs a hand over his face. 

 

“I leave, I … don’t know how to function. I can handle my daughter, I can handle domesticity. Let’s face it though, that can’t stick for somebody like me. I need the blood and the guns and the violence. It’s a part of me. I can’t take it out.

 

“And holy fuck, I’ve never noticed how deep I am in it until I’m back home, and everything is fucking  _ normal _ and I’m the only thing that’s not.”

 

Linda stares in astonishment for a few moment. She puts her hand on the table, reaching out for Erik to take it. Erik relents and reluctantly clasps her fingers in his. 

 

“Erik,” Linda starts. “You’re crazy.”

 

Erik barks out a laugh. “What gave me away? The megalomaniac plan to take over Wakanda? The scars on my body?”

 

“No, I’m being serious here. I swear you’re a different person sometimes. Like right now, you’re being a semi-functional human being. But, out there, on the field, you change. And it scares me sometimes to be honest. In my opinion, and I have nothing but my degree from M.I.T. backing me up here, you needed to switch how you think so you could survive. You see where I’m going here?”

 

“Erik and Killmonger,” Erik answers solemnly, eyes on their joined hands. 

 

“I think Amaya might be bringing back N’Jadaka.”

 

Erik’s eyes dart up to Linda, fixed on her intensely. It’s no small thing for her to be calling him by the name his father gave him. Linda knows this by how she never calls him that. In fact, the only time he’s ever heard her call him that was years ago, when they were in California on a short vacation. She was reciting the name, trying to get the pronunciation right after he told her.

 

“And I’m guessing N’Jadaka was a normal kid before his parents died.”

 

Erik moves to leave. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. Linda tightens her hold on his hand, keeping him in place. 

 

“Erik,  _ N’Jadaka _ , this isn’t healthy,” Linda says. “You let this keep on happening, it’s going to fuck you up bad.”

 

“Hasn’t been that much of an issue,” Erik throws back blithely. 

 

“Because you have Killmonger to help you cope. Killmonger isn’t meant for civilian life. He’s not the sort of person you want around Amaya.”

 

“Linda …”

 

“You’re not the only person going through this. I can’t leave the battlefields too. It’s in my head. I have nightmares, I have attacks. You’ve seen then.” Erik has. He’s heard the shouting and screaming late at night. He can’t … comfort her like normal people. He can make hot chocolate and stay silent while Linda talks, though. “And you, you’ve never had them. If you did, you’ve never let me see.

 

“You need help, Erik. Go to a doctor. If not for yourself, then for Amaya. She deserves a dad who’s there, physically and mentally, for her.”

 

“That’s a dirty trick. Guilt-tripping me by using my own damn kid.”

 

Linda’s face softens. “You’re a horrible person. You’ve done a lot of messed up things. Some of what’s happening to you might be karma, even. But after everything you’ve been through, I think you deserve some peace.”

 

Erik stares at her, long and hard. “That’s your opinion.” Erik shrugs Linda’s grip off of him and stands, moving to leave. He ignores the concerned look on Linda’s face. 

 

__

 

The topic doesn’t come up again but it hangs in the air between Erik and Linda. Linda seems to be working on something nowadays, gone for a day or two and on the phone for hours. Erik’s asked what it is. However, Linda tells him to ‘wait, you’ll see’ like a child hiding her artwork. Fine. Whatever. 

 

The car ride is filled with pain. 

 

_ “I’m one with the wind and sky!” _  Linda and Amaya sing at the top of their lungs. Preyy tries to sing along. A series of yowls is let out instead. Flare seems to share Erik’s pain though, giving Erik a dead inside expression when he looked at the rearview mirror. 

 

Linda had a strange fascination for Disney. It was a near-obsession that allowed her a younger and more innocent state of mind. (Erik remembers Linda singing an old Cinderella song under her breath as she walked away from a battlefield of blood and bodies.) Meaning everytime a movie came out, she would memorise each and every damn song. Meaning when Frozen came out, guess what was playing on repeat for days on end?

 

_ “Let it go! Let it go!” _

 

That and _ ‘Do you want to build a  _ fucking  _ snowman?” _ . 

 

“Is this about the cookies?” Erik asks. He reaches out for the stereo, only for his hand to be slapped away by Linda. “Woman, this is my car.”

 

“My song,” Linda hisses. 

 

“My sanity is on the line here.”

 

“Hold up, you have sanity?”

 

“Quickly gon’ lose it, you tone deaf bitch.”

 

“Language!” Amaya pipes up. “And apologise,  _ Tou-chan. _ ”

 

“You’re right, Amaya,” Erik says faux-sagely. “Linda, I’m sorry you’re a tone deaf bitch.”

 

Amaya sighs heavily. Linda glares at Erik. If Preyy could talk, she’d be saying ‘Oh, snap’. Flare closes her eyes and tries to go to sleep. 

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Linda throws at him. 

 

“The key is to own it like no one’s damn business.” 

 

“Amaya, baby, don’t copy your father. He’s a bad influence.”

 

“I know.”

 

“God, I’m glad inherited more from your mother than you did Erik.”

 

So is Erik. 

 

__

 

The leopards easily adjust to any situation. Though they are still cautious, tending to keep to themselves, they have accepted Amaya and Linda into their lives. They take more to Amaya, being small and bearing the scent of a child. Erik worried about them having space, so he figured daily walks were a must. 

 

He abhorred the idea of leashing them, seeing as how the leopards were capable of intelligent thought beyond that of a normal cheetah and had worn enough collars back in the facility they were raised in. Walking them in the streets would attract too much attention; he figured parks were a safe bet. 

 

They were. Until dogs got involved. And then it got messy. Erik should have kept in mind that the big cats in the facility did not take kindly to anything of the canine kind unless they were being raised together. It took truck loads of bullshit  _ and _ money to keep the owners of 3 very frightened pit bulls, a whimpering chihuahua and a feisty pug from calling the cops and animal control. And Damage Control, seeing as how the cheetahs morphed into their larger forms, proving that they were not innocent, little spotted kittens. 

 

Erik still took them to parks, but only at ass o’clock when nobody was around. 

 

Erik figures if they kept to the quieter streets of Oakland that the cheetahs wouldn’t make too much trouble. He had already sternly told them not to attack anybody or go running off. He said this especially to Preyy, who was the more rowdy and snappy one. Miraculously, they did as told so far. Although they did stick close to the humans they’ve tentatively called part of their pack. 

 

“Are those cheetahs?” Patience asks when she sees the two cheetah cubs sitting at the edge of the basketball court with Linda who’s slurping a milkshake. The community centre is quiet today, not many hanging around, which is for the best for the cheetahs since they’re still a bit hostile around strangers.

 

“Yes,” Erik answers nonchalantly. 

 

Patience blinks at the steadfastness of his response. His former foster mother always had a knack for seeing through his bullshit so Erik figures it’s pointless to even try lying. “Isn’t it illegal to keep them?”

 

“They’re better off with me.”

 

Patience gives him a disbelieving look, the same she gave Erik when he brought Amaya to Oakland for a visit and said he was taking care of her. Erik doesn’t blame her. Erik isn’t exactly the poster boy for stable, caring parent and caregiver. 

 

“I wouldn’t piss them off,” Erik adds. “They have superpowers.”

 

“Of course they do. Anything else I should know? Got a super suit hanging around somewhere?”

 

Erik opens his mouth to answer but Patience holds up a hand to stop him. “No, stop. I like my legal plausible deniability and you’re ruining that.”

 

Fair enough. Patience was one of the better foster parents Erik’s had. She reminded a bit of his own mother, before dad’s death and prison got her low enough to--

 

Erik breaks off that line of thought and tries to bottle the rage running through him. There’s kids here. They shouldn’t have to see that. 

 

Erik couldn’t get an extension to stay with Patience though. She was already one woman filled to the brim watching out for kids. As soon as his six months were up, he was shuffled off to the next foster parent. She gave him her contact details and they met up every now and then, though too far and too few in between to create a more meaningful connection. Erik liked the woman but he was in a place back then where he didn’t want coming to replace his parents’ place in life. 

 

She now ran a community center which did a good enough job to give a place for youths to go to when home wasn’t a viable option and help out others in a tough place. Patience would make a great president if politics wasn’t bullshit. 

 

Amaya was out playing with the other kids on the court, modified for their smaller size. Erik and Patience were close enough to hear them heatedly debating something. 

 

“-can get the shot,” she was saying. She stood a little above the other end of the court, bouncing the ball in her hands. 

 

The boys looked at her, shaking their heads. “No, you can’t.”

 

“Yes, I can. It’s just force, trigonometry and wind speed.” Wait, Amaya could already calculate that? Amaya readies herself, getting into position. Erik sees her take in a deep breath before she jumps, releasing the ball in her arms in a wide arc that--

 

\--went smoothly through the net. 

 

Erik darts his eyes between his girl and the net, where the ball bounced on the ground. Linda claps in applause, cheering her name. Patience raises an impressed eyebrow. The boys start fighting over who’s team Amaya gets to be on next. The girl in question turns expectantly to Erik. 

 

Erik smiles, moving towards Amaya and picking her up. “That was incredible, baby girl! Where’d you learn to do cool shit like that?”

 

Amaya, riding hot from the praise and attention, forgets to remind Erik about his language. “I practiced a lot when you were gone! I was watching a game when one of the commentators were talking about that so I read some stuff on the internet!”

 

“And you didn’t ask help from anyone? Not even your teachers?” 

 

Amaya enthusiastically shakes her head. “No!”

 

“Your girl’s good,” Patience comments, amused. “Have you considered that she might be a mutant?”

 

The sudden burst of enthusiasm and happiness quickly shifts. Erik feels his pleasure fade into grim reality as the smile drops off Amaya’s face. Erik’s mind jumps to Sayori. Erik’s listened enough to Sayori talk about mutants enough to know that that the X-gene was present before activation and those with an intelligent-type mutation manifested it young. She’s never said anything about it. She would have, even the more responsible and  _ better _ parent. But maybe--

 

“But I did it on my own,” Amaya says, sounding heartbroken. Erik internally lurches. He knows that tone. “I--I worked really hard to get that shot right, Miss Patience. I had t-to practice the equations when I got started and calculate them and--” she slips into Japanese _(fuck, she’s going to cry)_ _“My body’s small so I had to train it well enough and--”_

 

“Sweetie,” Erik cuts them off. “That shot? All you. Never doubt that. You worked hard and put in effort to get to that point.”

 

Erik starts taking deep breaths, hoping she imitates him subconsciously. Luckily, she does, latching onto the comforting aura that Erik is trying his best to put out. “Don’t let anything make you feel bad for doing your all. I mean, look at that--” Erik points out to the net. “How many other kids do you know that make that shot? Can you do that?” He looks to the boys, still hanging around, slightly antsy from the potential of crying girl. 

 

“Nope,” one boy said. Bakari, Erik thinks his name is. “Not on the first try. Maybe fifth and that’s if you’re lucky.”

 

“Yeah, that was awesome!”

 

“Can you do the same thing again? But with my neighbour’s window?” 

 

Erik eyes the boy who made the last response in amusement. The oddness of it works, eliciting a choke from Amaya. Patience tells the boy archly that destruction of property is a crime, Gabriel, don’t make me tell your moms. 

 

“See?” Erik goes on, walking away, still holding Amaya, to collect the ball. “No small feat.”

 

Erik seems to have defused the situation, judging from the small smile tugging at Amaya’s lips. Still, a part of his mind is still freaking the fuck out from the possibility of Amaya being a mutant. Mutants still weren’t in a stable place in society, with a majority of the young ones attending Xavier’s after being publicly outed during the manifestation of their powers. Still better than the fucking trash fire of the 90’s. 

 

“Sorry for being a crybaby,” Amaya says.

 

Yeah, the crybaby thing. According to Sayori, release of an emotions was healthy for kids, no matter what emotions it was. Meaning if Erik had to sit through an tantrum, he had to. Also, according to Sayori, the concept of a ‘crybaby’ was ‘ludicrous’ as it promoted ‘repression of emotions’ that ‘stunted growth’. Erik asked what was wrong with keeping everything inside at the time. Sayori said that Erik was one of the most emotionally immature men she’s ever known. 

 

_ (“Why did you sleep with me then?!” Erik shouted. Honestly all the things she said about him made Erik question why a scientist, a leading expert in her field, would have sex with him if that was the matter. _

 

_ “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?” Sayori shot back. “You’re very attractive!”) _

 

“Hey, Amaya,” Erik says quietly, low enough for Linda not to hear him because she will  _ never  _ let him live this down. “Wanna know a secret?”

 

Amaya leans in closer, curious. 

 

“I used to be a crybaby.”

 

Amaya pulls back, face scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t understand. You … You’re not very … uh …”

 

“Yeah, people see me and don’t believe this used to be a seven-year-old who cried because somebody took their Power Rangers figurine.”

 

“What happened?”

 

_ Your grandparents died.  _

 

_ I went into the system.  _

 

_ Nobody believed a word I said about Wakanda.  _

 

_ I got beat up.  _

 

“Life,” Erik returns vaguely. “Don’t tell Linda  _ anything  _  about this.”

 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Amaya promises, drawing an ‘X’ over her heart. 

 

“That’s my girl.”

__

 

Erik, Amaya and the cheetahs take off to go somewhere else. Linda, being a capable adult, stays behind to help Patience out with the community centre. Erik leads the way, Amaya holding his hand and the cheetahs trailing behind them. Erik offers to carry Amaya if the walk was getting too much but the girl politely declined and said she could handle it.

 

Dread started building up in Erik the closer they got to their destination. He hadn’t been there in years. Erik takes a deep breath and focuses on the sensation of Amaya’s soft hand wrapped in his. 

 

They step when they reach the parking lot.

 

“Tou-chan?” Amaya calls out. “Where are we?”

 

“I guess you could call this my childhood home.”

 

His old apartment complex has aged a bit since he last saw it. The paint’s faded, looking bland in the afternoon sun. The lot is still there, empty, leaving Erik and the others alone in the space. Erik’s lips quirk when he sees the old bottomless milk crate still hanging on the fence. 

 

Erik comes back here sometimes. To remember. To remember what he had. To remember what he could have had. To remind himself of what he was fighting for. He can still remember seeing the lights rising from the complex in the night sky, of leaving the court and rushing inside his complex, running through the corridors and--

 

“Tou-chan!” Amaya shouts. 

 

The present rushes back to Erik. He staggers back slightly, breathing heavily. Shit. Not again. He always gets lost in those memories. It’s why he doesn’t come back  _ often _ . 

 

“W--What?” Erik manages to get out, trying to keep his voice calm. “What?”

 

“My hand,” she says. Her eyes, they’re so wide as they look up to Erik. Did Erik used to look at his father with those eyes? “You were crushing it.”

 

“Shit.” He lets go immediately and crouches down to Amaya’s level immediately. “Sorry, baby. I--I didn’t mean to.”

 

“It’s okay. You wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. Are you okay?” she asks, the concern palpable on her face. “I’ve never seen you look so--lost.”

 

“Yeah, just--” Preyy and Flare circle around him cautiously. The connection must have tipped off of the disarray of his mental state. He strokes Prey’s fur as she passes by him, the fur running smoothly against his hand. “Bad memories.”

 

“This place was your home,” Amaya says, confused. “Why would you have bad memories?”

 

“Stuff just happened, okay?”

 

“Then why did we come here if the bad memories would make you like--” she gestures to Erik, a mess trying to hide behind a facade, “this?”

 

“I--” Erik starts and sighs. “You know I’m half-African, right?” Amaya nods. “It wasn’t till I joined the military, when I was all grown up, that I even stepped foot on my father’s homeland.” Amaya gingerly sits down. Flare settles in her lap while Preyy stick close to allow Erik to pet her. “All I had to connect me to my father’s heritage was what he told me and what he brought from his home. I brought you here to connect you with mine.”

 

Amaya looks back to the complex. “What was it like? Growing up here?”

 

“S’not so bad when you’re a kid. I was lucky. I had parents who loved me and friends I could play with. Your grandparents, they were incredible. They fought for what they believed and never gave up. Grandma, my mom, Lisa, she was so smart and strong. Always had something to say and would not take anybody’s shit for a second. Not even mine. And your grandpa, his name was N’Jobu.” 

 

Erik tries to swallow the thickness growing in his throat.

 

“He was--He was a greatest man I ever knew. He’d tell me the stories of his home whenever I ask. They were like fairy tales to me. He always wanted to take me back to where he came from, but he never got the chance.”

 

Erik clenches his fists, feeling his nails bite into his flesh. 

 

“You loved them a lot, didn’t you? Like how I loved Okaa-san.”

 

“They were my world.”

 

“How come I don’t see them now? Are they …” Amaya trails off. “They died, didn’t they?”

 

Erik nods stiffly. “Wasn’t really nice how they went. Deserved better.”

 

“How?”

 

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Erik says. His hand ruffles Amaya’s hair, who squawks it roughty ruins the neatness of her hair. “You’re seven. You’re too young to see how shitty this world really is.”

 

“Tou-chan,” Amaya huffs as she pouts at him, hair in disarray. Erik smiles. Cute.

 

“I wanna give you something,” he says. Erik pulls the chain up from beneath his shirt. The ring glints in the sunlight and catches Amaya’s eye. Careful as he ever is handling the ring, he unlatches the chain from around his neck. “Give me your hand.”

 

Amaya does so. Erik drops the ring in her palm, large in her small hands. It’s strange, because it’s like he’s eight again, seeing the ring so large and foreign. 

 

“This was your gramps’ ring, and his dad’s before that,” Erik explains. “Passed down from father to son and all that shit. Now I’m giving this to you.”

 

Amaya holds the ring up to her eye. “This looks really sturdy. No scratches or wear.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s made of vibranium,” Erik admits. 

 

“Vibranium?” Amaya repeats. “It’s that thing from Wak--Wait,  _ Utatomkhulu  _ was from Wakanda?” Erik doesn’t miss how Amaya refers to her grandpa in Xhosa terms. 

 

Erik grins, somewhat bitterly. That country is still a loaded topic for him and to be honest he’s not sure how to discuss it with his kid. Since Wakanda hadn’t dropped the truth about what they really were and Erik never actually talked to Amaya about the country, she thought it was a poor third-world country. “Yeah …”

 

“Oh,” Amaya says. She puts the chain around her neck. “I’ll take care of it and try not to lose it.”

 

“Yeah, if you could not lose it and give me a heart attack, that would be great, thanks.”

 

Amaya spreads her arms out. “May I have a hug, please?” she asks. 

 

Who the hell is Erik to refuse his little girl? He gently moves Preyy aside to wrap his arms around his girl. She’s so small and delicate that she makes Erik ugly with his scars, large roughness and already broken heart. 

 

“I love you so fucking much,” Erik says. 

 

“Me too.”

 

They separate, but Erik can feel remember the shape of Amaya in his arms. She sits across him, hands in her lap and tentative smile on her lips. 

 

“Tell me more,” she says. “Tell me about my grandparents.”

 

Erik obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no T'challa. When he gon' show up? I'm gonna be honest, you're gon' have to wait a while. But until then have some character and relationship development. 
> 
> To be honest, I was a bit hesitant to put Ross POV in here. People in the fandom seem to hate him and I'm totally fine with him. But he'll come in handy later on. Kinda. He's kinda the absent uncle/family friend of Erik's life. He cares but he's not part of the pack like Linda and Amaya. Also, he has no life. Work is his life, which is pretty sad, but he's a functioning workaholic. 
> 
> Linda and Disney is an angsty headcanon for me. She didn't have a normal, stable childhood but all the girls in her school was like 'we like disney and stuff like that' so she got into it just to feel part of the crowd. It was an escapist fantasy for her in her house. Disney is a coping mechanism that lets her feel normal, as problematic the corporation is.
> 
> Feel free to leave a review (since they fuel me) and to point out typos. 
> 
> Til next time!


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